


Little Old Lady

by Penkindisbestspecibus



Series: Chernobylbound [3]
Category: Homestuck, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, Horror, Mild Gore, Mind Control, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penkindisbestspecibus/pseuds/Penkindisbestspecibus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an Old Lady who swallowed a Spider - it twisted and screamed and writhed inside her. Why, oh why, did she swallow this Spider? A stand alone piece in Chernobylbound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Old Lady

“Aaaaaaaalriiiiiiiight you soft-skinned newborn shitheads! Get off your flabby asses and gather around! We've got a new mission.” Vriska 'Spider' Serket's voice boomed through the small cave they had commandeered as a basic base of operations. Wearing the 'Bulat' standard issue armour for Military-employed Stalkers replete with Sphere M12 helmet, the sole difference was that it had all been repainted with grey and cobalt hues to better identify her as one of the many guns-for-hire within the zone - a Mercenary.

Five other Stalkers gathered around her, all wearing suits of a similar colour theme, the only odd one out being a large, hulking figure in a plain metal grey exoskeleton, it's wheezing servomotors whining as he moved. “Do any of you assbackwards morons know a Merc called 'Beelzebub'?” The shortest stalker nodded roughly, adjusting his grip on his machine gun. “Yeah. Did a job with him some time ago. Was okay guy, little loose in the head, but small complaint – can't say many aren't here in the Zone.” Spider bared her teeth from behind her mask, a lost gesture but one she did nonetheless.

“Then I hope you two aren't bosom buddies, Ox, because our mission is to put him six feet under.” There was a slight murmuring amongst the squad as Spider flopped a folder onto the table. “Beelzebub was sent to retrieve some documents; he got the documents but was pinned down by an emission. Our client lost contact with him for a small while, but she recently received a message informing her of Beelzebub's desire to 'renegotiate the terms of the contract, specifically, the reward stipulated'. Make no mistake, the one who broke the terms of the contract was Beelzebub in his refusal to simply hand over the documents for the reward they had agreed upon. Beelzebub's reward is ours as long as we retrieve the documents.”

 

“How much is ze reward mademoiselle is eh offering?” Satyr's smooth velvety voice was muffled only somewhat by his bulky exoskeleton armour. Vriska named the figure. A quiet silence enveloped everyone. “And eh, you are saying zis man, Beelzebub, he was eh demanding more?”

“Correct – Now, IIIIIIII don't know about you idiots, but I don't care what's in those documents. It can be the secret to eternal life for all I care, for the amount she's offering, I'd walk through the Brain Scorcher.” There was a small string of chuckles.

“Then it is a sealed matter of affairs. We strike Beelzebub's name from the record's of life and retrieve the vaunted documents. Where is this avaricious soul dwelling?” The lanky figure of Lynx carried a strangely quiet voice for the words it often spoke. “An underground Laboratory, with an entrance through the underground railroad. We go in, we ice the fucker, we take the documents, we take a bath in money. Any more questions?”

“How tough a fight'r is Beelzebub?” Doberman's gruff voice was clear cut and full of pragmatism. “The Client said he was well armed and stocked before he set off. He wasn't wearing an exoskeleton, but he was equipped with a Berill 5M armoured suit, extensively modified.” Vriska said, showing them a picture of Beelzebub to verify that information.

“An-n-ny kn-kn-nown... t-t-ta-tacti-ti-tactics?” Heron's almost bashful stutter made Vriska roll her only good eye, but she ultimately said nothing – his horribly annoying speech impediment aside, Heron was one of the best marksmen she had ever seen and so, he was tolerated (if only barely) within Vriska's little ragtag band. Vriska glanced at Ox, deferring to his previous experience. “Beelz, he is, how you say? John of all Trades. If Beelz is enemy, he most certainly be preparing for arrival of mercenary squad such as ourself.” Vriska rolled the maps up and stashed them in her pack, clapping her hands together.

“Meeting's over, chucklefucks. Check your stuff, pack your bags, we leave yesterday.” There was a brief chorus of 'Yes ma'am' (as well as a 'As you command, my lady' from Lynx) as the band of Six split apart to sort through their, admittedly, meagre belongings.

The trek was long and uneventful, pausing only occasionally to rest and eat. The small groups of Stalkers they encountered gave them a wide berth, and where normally the 'Blackheart Buccaneers' would've been all too happy to open fire and take what they wanted, the lure of a big reward at the end of a risky mission kept them both focused and conservative with their resources – it would do them no good to waste their time, health and ammunition on pitiful little whelps when there was a whale to fry.

 

The subway station was dank and poorly lit, 'Hot Fuzz' hanging from the roofs sizzled when one of them got near. “It is, how you say? Excess of silence.” They had encountered no mutants; no pseudodog pack keeping it's home here, no blind dogs, no bloodsuckers... not even a poltergeist.

“Keep your half-blind eyes peeled you idiots.” Vriska reached into her artifact pouch retrieving her most prized possession – a set of eight bright cobalt eight-sided die, her Fluorite Octet. She had discovered the dice in the remains of what was once a school building, and had felt a strangely powerful affinity for them. She wasn't entirely sure what they did, but they didn't seem to emit any form of radiation and she had simply kept them as a memento, a lucky charm. She had developed a habit of rolling them whenever she was nervous to 'consult' them. Now would be no different.

The rest of her squad ignored the slight sound of clattering dice, already used to their leader's little quirk of habit. The dice all showed up with the number eight and she grinned. “Yes! All the luck! Aaaaaaaallllllll ooooooooffffffff iiiiiiiitttttttt!”

“May I take it, dear Webspinner, that the results are most favourable?” Vriska let out a cackling laugh, collecting her dice and pocketing them once more, not noticing the way they seemed to flash and glow. “Of course! This task will be a piece of cake!”

“... That is quite relief. Is great burden off shoulders, Spider.” Ox said cheerfully, gazing out at the railroad tracks from their small staircase. He tossed a bolt down below, watching as acid green gas and liquid sizzled and melted it. “Hm. Best to avoid then, I would be think-AGH!” The rusty railing Ox was leaning on gave way as he leant a little to hard on it, toppling over the edge helplessly, landing face down in the corrosive anomaly.

 

“OX!” Nearly every member shouted simultaneously, rushing to the edge or down the stairs to see if he was fine. The broad-shouldered mercenary staggered up from the liquid, it's posionous green light still flashing and sizzling, clawing desperately at his face with rapidly melting hands, screaming in abject horror and pain as the liquid dissolved his suit and flesh with equal ease.

Vriska watched as he stumbled slightly, palms out to catch him as he fell only to cause them to corrode away even faster with another agonised wail. The other merc's watched horrified, unable to assist him as he wasted away. Drawing her side arm, Vriska coldly took aim and fired a single bullet through the dying Stalker's head, causing him to slump forward in the pool of acid and corrosive gas, melting away like a snowman left out in the summer heat. “He was already dead.” She said frostily, answering the question nobody had asked as she holstered her pistol once more. “Get a move on you slackers!” She barked out, rallying them onwards once more with nary a second glance at the rapidly dissolving corpse of her comrade.

 

They all silently fell in line, Spider leading the way carefully to ensure that none of the others fell prey to an anomaly as Ox did.

 

* * *

 

_Fruit Punch - it's name is derived from it's almost electric green-yellow colouring. The Fruit Punch anomaly is a chemical-based anomaly, composed of, at this point, unknown highly corrosive liquid. How the anomaly does not melt through the ground, or replenishes itself is also unknown. All attempts of gaining a sample have failed due to a lack of suitable container. Attempts have been made using a variety of metals (including lead, copper, tin and titanium alloy), glass, leather or cloth._

 

* * *

 

There was little incident except for a small pack of rodents which they dispatched with the efficiency and capability Spider had learned to expect of them. Vriska consulted her PDA, checking the blueprints for the Railroad and the path that had been carefully planned out and illuminated. According to the map, there should've been a ladder up to a walkway. She motioned for them to stop and scanned the surroundings, her sole eye landing on was probably once upon a time the ladder in question - it had been blown off by a small explosive. “ _Damn it!_ ” She swore, kicking the ladder harshly. “Ah. So he was expecting us? 'E is quite ze tricky one.” Vriska glanced up, crouching low before springing upwards in a leap, hands out to catch the bars. Her fingertips grazed them lightly and she swore again. “It's too high to jump.” She muttered, glancing around for something that could be used to help her get up. Heron was peering down the rest of the tunnel, strangely intent on something whilst Doberman checked around for signs of mutants. Lynx was quietly waiting for her orders as Satyr smacked his fist into his palm.

“I will do ze helping mademoiselle. 'Ere, step into my hands.” He knelt down, placing his hands together with the palms facing upwards. Shrugging, Vriska stepped onto them, and allowed the bulky male to push her into reach with a grunt. Swinging herself up, she motioned for Lynx to follow her.

 

“S-so-some-so-someth-th-th-something's c-c-c-c-com-com-com-c-coming...” Heron whispered, backing away slightly with his sniper rifle raised. Satyr hauled Doberman up onto the walkway with Lynx and Spider's assistance, glancing at Heron. The mercenaries drew their weapons, carefully watching the end of the tunnel. True enough, blue light could be seen from the end, rapidly approaching. Doberman peered through a set of binoculars, and tensed immediately. “ _TESLA!_ ” He shouted, causing both Heron and Satyr to snap into action.

Satyr immediately got into position as Heron sprinted as quickly as he could to him; practically launching himself off the heavily armoured stalker, he latched onto both Doberman's and Lynx's hands and let himself be hauled up. “Satyr, come on!” Spider shouted, holding her hand for him. He glanced back at the rapidly approaching ball of electrical death before looking at his armour, chuckling slightly. “... No. Mademoiselle, I am far too heavy to be lifted.” He chuckled sheepishly, before removing his helmet with a hissing sound. Mousy brown hair and green eyes looked up at her from a dark face, smiling sadly. “I must thank you for ze honour of serving wit you, Madame Spinneret.” Vriska snarled, leaning dangerously over the edge waving her hand at him desperately.

 

“JUST JUMP YOU FUCKING MORON, IT'S NOT THAT,” The Tesla anomaly collided with him, delivering hundreds upon thousands of volts of electricity into his system, causing him to writhe and scream in sheer agony as every inch of his body was fried. “... hard...” She muttered, as the Tesla passed, leaving Satyr's smoking remains to collapse lifelessly on the ground.

“...” She sat there silent for a moment, as the other members bowed their heads. Satyr was well liked and well respected amongst the Mercenary world, and even more so amongst those who worked within the Zone.

“It is... almost indelibly ironic that the armour designed to protect was ultimately the cause of his demise.” Lynx said quietly, turning away from the smoking body. Spider rose silently, straightened her back and steeled her expression before leading them along the walkway further.

 

“Lynx take point. Heron, cover the rear.” They moved in relative silence once more.

 

* * *

 

_The Tesla - an electrical anomaly that manifests as a large condensed ball fo static electricity. The Tesla anomaly is mobile, following a pre-set, circuitous path. Without the assistance of electricity absorbing artifacts or significant protection against electricity present in armour, grazing contact is extremely dangerous and direct contact is fatal._

 

* * *

 

They had cleared a field of Whirligigs when they arrived at a reactor room. “My, my. The science team here had some very interesting toys indeed.”

“Can it Lynx. Focus. We already lost Ox and Satyr and I'll be damned if I have to replace another one of you assholes.” Her tone was vitriolic but the other merc's smiled slightly all the same. The message was read clear as day.

“C-c-can-can't y-y-y-ou f-f-feel it?” Heron muttered suddenly, darting his eyes back and forth. Aside from his prodigious marksmanship, Heron's instincts were almost as good as a radar. He had something of a sixth sense for danger that had allowed him to survive for quite a while with very little equipment and weaponry.

The other mercs raised their weapons and assumed a diamond formation, backs to the centre. Heavy footfalls made them snap to the side of a reactor, where a hideously mutated figure shambled out from behind. “CONTROLLER!” Somebody shouted, but Vriska could barely think as she felt it slam into their minds, battering away at their control. “BREAK IT'S LINE OF SIGHT!” She shouted, diving for cover behind some barrels.

 

Doberman managed to dart behind the reactor itself, but Lynx and Heron weren't so lucky. Unable to reach cover in time, they screamed as it overpowered their minds, and raised their weapons once more. “I'll keep 'em busy, yer take out the circus reject!” Doberman shouted, rushing forward in a leaping tackle to knock the shambling form of Heron behind a set of barrels. Vriska dive rolled behind a fallen table, grimacing as she felt it fumble at her mind again – it made sense that she handle the Controller – had Ox or Satyr survived, they would've likely been the candidates as well, as they were the only ones who had the Psy-Band modification.

She rummaged through her pack. She had been using a SPAS12, but she didn't fancy getting close. The AKM, and indeed the entire Kalashnikov line, was a very popular weapon in the Zone due to it's ready availability. Only the very newest and greenest Stalker could not say they could afford one.

 

She ducked her head and let out a small burst of fire at it, before shoving her head back down without registering how much she had hit it. The Psy-Band gave her an edge, but it was hardly a sword on it's own.

She pushed the sound of gunfire behind her from her mind, placing her trust wholly and completely into Doberman. After a few more bouts of firing upon the Controller, during which it had steadily advanced despite her bullets, she knew she had to rethink. Playing reverse whack-a-mole wasn't working. She needed to kill it, and she needed to do it now. She tore open her bag, letting the shotgun, medical supplies and cans of food fall to the ground... and a small cluster of grenades. _Perfect_. Controllers couldn't move very quickly or suddenly due to their bulky mutations – a well placed grenade could wipe it out. She palmed her dice, rolling them with a clatter. There were only five eights this time, with three ones. She didn't care. It didn't matter how lucky she was, either she lived or she died and that was it. Either she threw the grenades or she died.

The gamble was not on how well she could throw – but whether she could throw before the Controller assaulted her mind and forced her to drop them. An act that would be fatal.

She pulled the pin off two, and with a deep breath, shoved her head up. The assault returned immediately, making her wince as she reared her hands back. _LET GO_ it shouted at her, and she grinned. _Sure!_ And with that, she let them fly. They landed near it's feet, rolling only slightly as Vriska ducked back behind the barricade before it could claim control of her mind. The resulting explosion sprayed shrapnel everywhere but when she ducked her head out again, rifle at the ready, it was to it's dismembered corpse.

 

“Hell yeah!” She shouted, grinning madly as she turned to her moaning team mates. “Don't mess with the Blackheart... Buccaneers...” Doberman was leaning against the reactor, slumped on the floor, bleeding heavily from the stomach. “... Tch...” He muttered, staring at Heron's horrified expression. “Even und'r mind control, you w're a damn bett'r shot than an orat'r.” He muttered, grinning weakly behind his mask. “I-I-I'm s-s-s-so-so-s-so-so-” Heron began, trembling slightly.

“Oh save yer breath, Heron.” Doberman muttered, giving a wet cough. “... Don't suppose I could trouble you for one last shot of vodka? Bottle's... geh... in my bag...”

“Doberman you fuck, I've got medkits!” Vriska snapped, grabbing one of them and definitely-not-rushing over. Doberman moved his hand, displaying a rather impressive set of buckshot wounds. “Spider... c'n barely feel m' legs 's it is...” Lynx handed him the bottle of vodka, and helped remove his mask – he was an aging man, with a weathered face like leather and a greying beard. “To... the Buccaneers...” He said chugging down as much of the alcohol as he could. They watched as the bottle began to empty, before his throat stilled.

His arm slumped to the side, the bottle rolling from his loose grip spilling vodka everywhere. Lynx closed his eyes with an oustretched hand, and placed his mask back on his face. They stood there in silence.

 

“I...I-I-Is th-th-this r-r-r-rea-r-rea-real-rea-r-really w-w-w-wor-w-wor-w-worth it?” Heron whispered, glancing at Spider. “W-w-we l-l-lost O-Ox a-and S-S-S-Sa-Sa-S-S-Sa-Satyr... n-n-now D-D-D-Do-Do-D-Do-Dobe-Do-D-Dober-Do-Doberman...” Spider reloaded her rifle, giving him a cold stare.

“Does it fucking matter? We accepted the mission. We came all the way here. If we turn back now, they'll have died for nothing. Say your prayers or do whatever it is you believe is necessary for whatever shithole Gods you believe in Heron.” She snapped, marching on without them. “Who fucking knows? Maybe they'll save you.”

 

* * *

 

_The Controller - a humanoid mutant, and one greatly feared amongst Stalkers for it's ability to overpower and override one's own mind and take their body as a puppet. Their main method of attack is a mental assault, so artifacts that protect against psychic influence such as Stone Flower or Moonlight and breaking it's line of sight before it can assault are the main methods of protection. Controllers have been on occasion known to communicate through telepathy, but no peaceful Controller has ever been found._

 

* * *

 

The only warning they received that they had reached Beelzebub's lair was Heron's brief whisper of warning before a bullet introduced itself to Lynx's cerebral cortex. Spider shoved Heron to the ground as a few more bullets whizzed past before there was a frustrated muffled curse. “ _Jam?! JAM?! THIS ISN'T THE SANDWICH I WANTED WHERE ARE THE DAMN PEANUTS?!_ ” There were fading footsteps, and when Vriska poked her head out, nothing occurred.

She advanced carefully, Heron following behind, and they reached what looked like a small barricade... a few crates stacked on top of each other, with a Vintorez sniper rifle sitting innocently on it. Vriska glanced down the passage, groaning as she saw a long corridor with a lot of doors. “Great. Just fucking greaaaaaaaat.” She muttered, keeping her SPAS12 at the ready.

 

“ _Did she send you? Little knitting fingers made of glass, tap tap tap! Knock! Break shot, cue ball to corner pocket, oh it's a SCRATCHING OUT MY EYES BUT IT NEVER FUCKING STOPS._ ” The twisted voice rang out all around them with hurried footsteps causing them to pause but nothing came. “ _I gave a dog a bone but then it wouldn't let go! Back, she said, back, said the Marquise, staring at his eyes. He gave her a smile but his mouth was full of lies!_ ”

“Jesus fucking christ he's crazy.” She muttered, edging a door open cautiously. The room was larger then the corridors and both she and Heron carefully entered, taking slow cautious steps. “ _They say Cherubs bring you joy and cheer, all he brings is death and fear..._ ” A darting shadow caught her eye and she whirled about, already firing off a blast, hitting air. Heron let loose a burst of bullets but to no effect either. Beelzebub fired back.

“ _THEY CALLED ME A GOPHER BUT WHO LAUGHS NOW? MY INSURANCE PREMIUMS ARE LOWER THAN EVER BEFORE!_ ”

Heron collided with a fallen table, eyes glazed over and dull as what constituted his chest sprayed just about everywhere.

Vriska snarled, firing off another blast from her shotgun at the darting figure. “YOU FUCKING BASTAAAAAAAARD!” When her shotgun no longer fired she threw it away, reaching for her pistol. Beelzebub seemed to materialise from thin air, shotgun aimed squarely at her forehead. “ _No soup for you!_ ” He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. “ _Jam? AGAIN?! WHERE ARE MY PEANUTS DAMN IT!_ ” He threw the gun away frustratedly as Vriska jammed her pistol under his chin. “Here's your fucking peanuts.” She hissed, pulling the trigger with a bang, ignoring the blood that splattered her helmet. The crazed stalker, wearing little except a trench coat and some ragged clothes fell to the ground. Vriska glanced at Heron's body, before letting out a sigh.

 

The documents were a little deeper within the laboratory, sitting on a small table near a makeshift fire. Stuffing them into her bag, Spider began to make her way out of the facility.

 

* * *

 

“Ah. Miss Spider. Very good, just in time. Was getting worried.” The asian lady was the epitome of class, sitting in the fortified bunker, wearing a highly expensive eldritch green silk dress. “You have documents then?” Spider flopped the folder onto the table, glaring at the woman all the while. “Ah. Very good. Very good indeed.” She clicked her fingers, and a burly looking Stalker in Exoskeleton armour handed her a briefcase. “Cash in full. Curious... where are fellow mercenary?”

“Dead.” She hissed, snatching the briefcase from the bodyguard. The Handmaid giggled lightly to herself, hiding the smirk behind a delicate hand. “Ah. How... lucky for you to be sole collector. No matter, document retrieved, it all same to me. Have good day Miss Spider.”

**Author's Note:**

> Images courtesy once more of the STALKER wiki.


End file.
